


When Living is Another Kind of Dying

by shealynn88



Category: Supernatural/Heroes
Genre: Episode: s01e20 Five Years Gone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-19
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-12-23 23:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/932535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to AU Crossover <i>They Who Bear the Deepest Wounds</i>.</p>
<p>
  <b>New York is still burning when he gets there; one day later, an eternity too late.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Living is Another Kind of Dying

New York is still burning when he gets there; one day later, an eternity too late.

Congressman Patrelli is already putting his own spin on things, but Dean knows the truth. Sam told him about the vision—after there were two states between them. After Sam was sure he'd never get there in time.

"Dean," Hiro greets him sadly.

"Where is he?" Dean looks past him into the warehouse they're using as their headquarters.

"Who?"

"Peter."

"He's upstairs." There are tears in his eyes. "I heard about your brother—"

Dean ignores the empty words and steps close to pull Hiro's sword from its scabbard before he takes the stairs two at a time.

"Peter! Get out here!" He barrels along the catwalk, glancing into each room as he passes.

When Peter steps out in front of him he doesn't pause, just takes a massive swing downward that slows as it meets tissue and then catches in bone. The sword pulls from his hand as Peter crumples.

He's just working it free for another swing when something grabs him by the back of the shirt and tosses him toward the stairs.

His head cracks against the metal railing and he thinks maybe he blacked out for a minute. When he opens his eyes Niki's towering over him, lips twisted in a cruel smile. She looks nothing like he remembers.

She picks up the sword as he reaches for it. He clenches his jaw as bone grates on bone and he knows he has at least three broken ribs.

"If you try anything like that again, I'll kill you." Her voice is cold and he realizes it's not Niki at all. This is Jessica.

Hiro comes clattering up the stairs and she hands him his bloody sword. "You need to keep better track of this," she tells him sharply.

Dean can hear Peter coughing behind Jessica, and he's failed again.

He blacks out before he can make another attempt; before he can make her keep her promise.

***

Dean wakes up tied to a chair, facing the window. The knots are tight as hell and his ribs grind together every time he shifts. But all that is nothing compared to the raw wound of Sam's loss.

He hears footsteps behind him and he sort of hopes its Jessica, back to finish the job.

It's not. It's Peter.

He's got a scar across the left side of his face that wasn't there two hours ago, and it's more a taunt than a victory. He should be dead or dying, or at the very least, screaming in pain.

It feels like a cosmic joke; like God is laughing at him. Not that Dean believes in God.

The only thing Dean ever believed in was his family. His brother.

He doesn't believe in anything anymore.

Peter turns toward the window and they're side-by-side—Dean in the chair, Peter standing just a few feet away. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye, and he'd kill him if he could.

Peter touches the scar absently, tracing it down from his nose along his cheek. He never looks away from the window when he speaks. "I'm sorry."

Dean yanks abruptly against the ropes in sudden rage. "Sorry? You're fucking _sorry_? Why? Because you killed thousands of people? Because my brother tried to _help_ you? You son of a bitch, sorry doesn't _begin_ to make up for what you did!"

Peter shakes his head slowly, and his fingers are still worrying the scar. "No. I know. I'm sorry…that I can't die." He looks over. "Sam would still be alive. Micah. Ando. Everyone." He looks away again, like it's too painful to look at Dean anymore. Fucking coward. "It was a perfect shot, right to the back of the head." He laughs and it's harsh and painful and Dean itches with the need to slide a blade between his ribs. "I coughed it up. I coughed up the damn bullet and then I exploded." He stares out the window again. "It was a perfect shot. I told him it would stop me. I told him it would be okay."

Seconds tick by like hours and Dean pulls furiously at the ropes because he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't want to know.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispers. He walks away and Dean stops fighting long enough to listens to his footsteps fade away. Then all he can hear is his own ragged breathing as it changes to choking sobs.

There's more than one way to die.

This is worse than any he ever imagined.


End file.
